


words weigh heavy on the heart

by imadetheline



Series: learning, little by little [5]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Daughter Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, FebuWhump2021, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Identity Reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:27:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29158143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imadetheline/pseuds/imadetheline
Summary: febuwhump alt four - identity reveal
Relationships: Leia Organa & Darth Vader, Leia Organa & Luke Skywalker, Luke Skywalker & Darth Vader
Series: learning, little by little [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2100993
Comments: 12
Kudos: 119
Collections: Luke and Vader Bonding, febuwhump 2021





	words weigh heavy on the heart

**Author's Note:**

> title from human by of monsters and men
> 
> also written for this request:
> 
> "So I got this random prompt idea while reading one of the comments on your fics; For your 'learning, little by little' series, can we have a fic where Leia goes to rescue Luke, and she dresses as a stormtrooper and R2-D2 comes along while painted as an imperial droid, and she runs into Vader and Luke chatting and is so confused, and then at some point Artoo tells Vader that Luke and Leia are twins, and then there's classic Skywalker family chaos™. This prompt is kinda messy, sorry."
> 
> Thank you so much! this was very fun and it got very angsty and then i realized i could use it for febuwhump so here we are lol. i hope you like it!

So far, this is going better than she expected. Honestly, she’s not even sure how she and Artoo pulled this off. Leia glances down at him as she walks down the long, fairly busy halls of the Executor, making sure he’s still rolling along beside her. He beeps up at her, and from what she can tell, it’s an annoyed remark at his new paint job. They’d had to paint over his silver and blue with Imperial blacks and greys so he could get her on board, and he had not been pleased, to say the least. 

But it had worked. Leia had managed to gain a stormtrooper uniform, and Artoo blends right in with the grey bulkheads and polished black floors. No one has glanced twice at the lone stormtrooper and accompanying droid. Now, the only problem is finding Luke.

She’d already had Artoo plug into a computer terminal and access the detention logs, but strangely there are no records of Luke as ever being held in the cells. She refuses to accept that he’s dead, though. It’s been two months, and the rest of the Alliance has--that’s why it’s just her and the ever-faithful Artoo--but she knows he’s alive. She doesn’t know how she knows, but he is. And she’s going to find him. He has to be here.

It won’t be long before someone discovers the unconscious and cuffed stormtrooper she’d stolen the uniform off of and then deposited in a storage closet. Her time is running out, and she doesn’t know where to find Luke, but she keeps walking, ignoring Artoo’s questioning beeps. She can’t understand him as well as Luke can, and anyway, something is telling her to keep going, to keep walking.

<<<>>>

“They don’t even have shields!” Luke gestures to the various TIEs across the hangar, exasperation leaking into his voice.

His father seems unfazed, even amused, as he crosses his arms over his chest. “If the pilot is good enough, they should not need them.”

Luke smiles then, victoriously, “Then why does your TIE have shields?” He looks pointedly at the TIE advanced sitting behind Vader.

For a moment, Vader pauses, annoyance sparking through their bond, and Luke has to raise his hand to hide his growing grin. The respirator releases a burst of static that Luke’s come to recognize as a sigh, “I am the second in command of the empire. It is only prudent that I have more protection.” Luke just snorts. “And because I seem to remember an impulsive pilot deciding to ram his ship into mine in a move no sane person would ever attempt-”

“Hey! I-”

“If I must deal with your foolhardy attempts at piloting, I should at least be well-equipped,” Vader finishes, helmet tilting down to regard Luke triumphantly.

Luke glares back up at his father. Somehow this argument about whether TIEs or x-wings are better ships has spiraled into insults against his piloting skills, which he happens to think are quite good. Apparently, his father does not share the same confidence.

But evidently, Luke has also not been shielding his thoughts because a gloved hand raises and lands heavily on Luke’s shoulder, “I did not say you were a bad pilot, my son. Quite the opposite.” Luke’s smile returns, and he glances down at his boots, still somehow unused to his father’s praise even after these months spent together. “But the fact remains that your-” he casts about for an adequate word, finally landing on “ _style_ of piloting is entirely too reckless,” he finishes pointedly, respirator breathing evenly.

Luke looks up, meeting the lenses’ gaze, and smirks, “Wonder where I got that from then.”

And he can sense the warmth and amusement radiating from his father, can almost see the smile pulling at his lips, “Indeed, my son, one does wonder.” 

His hand drops from Luke’s shoulder as he strides past him, towards the hangar door, and Luke has to hurry to catch up to his long strides, once again cursing his height, or rather lack of it.

“Now that was not my doing, little one,” Vader responds to Luke’s thought and smirks at the apt endearment. Luke scowls, pulling his shields back up.

They exit into the halls of the Executor, cape snapping at Vader’s heels and almost tripping Luke as he struggles to step around it. “Well, you have prosthetics, so it’s hardly fair.”

Vader’s helmet tilts down towards him, “Even before the prosthetics, I was much taller than you. You cannot blame me for your stature.”

Luke snorts and nods amiably at a passing trooper as they continue down the halls before he continues, “So do I have my mother to thank for it then?”

And that catches Vader off guard. He doesn’t stop walking, but he does flinch almost unnoticeably. Honestly, Luke’s not sure where Vader expected this conversation to go; this is the obvious next question. But then his father doesn’t have much experience with parenting, so this is relatively on par. 

Luke’s still looking up at Vader as he walks, and Vader seems lost in the surprise of Luke asking about his mother, so neither of them is paying attention when a grey and black astromech comes rolling right into their path, beeping wildly. Luke runs straight into it and loses his footing with a grunt, toppling backward. But then he’s caught by small hands--definitely not Vader’s--and the white armor covering their arms is cutting into his skin through the uniform. He looks up sharply and sees the white of a stormtrooper helmet looking down at him, “Luke?”

Surprise radiates from their presence, but that’s the second thing he notices. Because the first thing is that it’s “Leia?” He’d know her presence anywhere, burning and steadying in equal measure, and this is definitely her, dressed in a stormtrooper uniform onboard the Executor. He’s confused, to say the least.

He pulls himself out of her slack grip, trying to reorient himself. His gaze catches on the astromech, still beeping rapidly though something seems to be holding it from rushing towards him again. “Is that _Artoo_?” he asks in mild disbelief.

Leia pulls on his arm, her gaze fixed on something over Luke’s shoulder, and she hisses, her voice slightly distorted by the helmet, “Yes, but Luke…” He turns towards where she’s looking, already knowing what’s caught her attention and doused her presence in fear that she controls well but is still apparent.

Vader’s hand is outstretched towards Artoo, holding the whistling and protesting droid in place. His mask is also fixed firmly on Leia, anger apparent in his stance. Luke shifts slightly, so Leia is further hidden behind him.

“ _Organa_ …” Vader hisses, and the anger lacing what is clearly a threat makes Luke flinch even though he tries to hide it. Vader sees it anyway; Luke can tell because durasteel shields come crashing down around his father’s emotions, cutting off the anger and leaving only a chilling emptiness over their bond. That scares Luke more than the anger had.

But then Leia’s whispering behind him, as quietly as she can through the helmet, “Are you hurt? Is there a transmitter or-”

Because, of course, she’d seen that he isn’t cuffed and had assumed the worst, but before Luke can assure her he’s fine, Vader is roaring, “You _dare_ think that I would treat him as-” he stumbles, searching for words that, in his anger, are evading him, “as a _slave?_ ”

Luke’s arms raise protectively, trying to keep Leia’s shorter frame shielded behind him. But of course, it doesn’t work. She sidesteps him quickly, anger blazing in her eyes, so similar to Vader’s own rage, though Luke knows she wouldn’t appreciate the comparison. 

“Of course I dare, Vader. You’re not exactly known for your hospitality, _my lord_ ,” she sneers, and Luke almost facepalms. Any fear he had sensed in her presence is gone, vanished beneath the wave of righteous anger. This situation is quickly spiraling out of control. Someone is about to lose a limb, and he wouldn’t put it past Leia to make sure it’s Vader.

Regardless, Luke would prefer to keep any injuries to a minimum, so he steps between them, arms raised, trying to keep them both in his line of sight. “Okay, hey.” He turns to Leia, “I’m fine, completely unharmed, okay?” She looks doubtful, scanning his black imperial uniform, but she doesn’t say anything. So he turns back to Vader, hesitates before he speaks, deliberating on how to address him in front of Leia, but he supposes she’s going to find out soon anyway. “Father-” Luke hears Leia splutter behind him, but he continues, “She’s my friend, and she’s only trying to help me so you cannot hurt her.” 

Leia snorts doubtfully, and Vader’s respirator cycles as he stares directly at Luke but then, “Very well.” It sounds like it’s pulled from him without his permission, but he lowers his shields far enough for Luke to sense his honesty.

Luke sighs heavily and drops his hand, and is then immediately assaulted by questions from Leia. He turns and sees she’s taken off the helmet, gripping it tightly in one hand, as she whisper-shouts at him. It’s only then that Luke notices no one has entered the hallway for quite some time, almost since they bumped into Artoo. He glances at his father, unsure how the man had gotten out the word to avoid this area so quickly. However, Vader doesn’t acknowledge him, restraining his anger by listening to whatever Artoo’s still beeping about. Vader’s shields are still closed tightly, but Luke lowers his to send him a wave of gratitude for giving him a moment with Leia.

And then he turns his full attention to the princess, trying to process the questions she’s already asked. But he’s distracted by the weight of how much he missed her, hitting him fully as he looks at her strained face, dark eyes ablaze, and hair pulled back but slightly frizzy from the helmet. He can’t help it; he cuts off her rant of confusion and worry and admonishments with a tug, pulling her into his arms. She’s still as small as ever, but she’s oh so warm and bright and alive, and he missed her. She freezes for a moment, but then she’s hugging him back just as tightly. “I missed you,” he admits into her coiled hair, breathing in the faint scent of the Alderanian perfume she always wears.

She curls her fingers into the back of his tunic, “I missed you, too.” She pauses for only a moment, her voice dropping even quieter, “But we should go.”

Luke feels his father stiffen behind them, still pretending to be listening to Artoo and not eavesdropping on their conversation. But Luke is quick to stop Vader’s worry. He doesn’t need the rage he knows his father is fighting to contain, released. So he pulls back slightly, hands staying on Leia’s shoulders, but he meets her eyes as he speaks this time, trying to convey the truth of his words, “I can’t leave, Leia.” Her eyes spark, and he rushes to continue before she can argue, “He _is_ my father. And we’re working on something.” His voice drops even lower, “He’s going to help me kill the emperor. You could help us; the Rebellion could.”

Her shock is bright in the Force, but it’s swiftly replaced by suspicion, her eyes narrowing, “I don’t _trust_ him, Luke.” Her gaze softens slightly, “Even if he is your… your father, he’s still done terrible things.” He doesn’t miss the wince that crosses her features, gone as quickly as it arrived, and guilt floods his system for not telling her sooner, for making her stand this close to a man who tortured her. He knows all too well how hard it is to look at that mask sometimes, no matter their connection.

But their plan will help the galaxy; he’s sure of it. “I know, Leia, I know.” He squeezes her shoulder, a plea evident in his voice, “But you don’t have to trust him. Just- Just trust me.” She looks doubtful. “Please.” It’s all the explanation he has to offer her, and he hopes it’s enough.

The suspicion never leaves her Force signature, but she nods, just a slight dip of her head in acquiescence, “All right.” Luke knows she’s not done asking questions or letting any of this go anytime soon, but it seems she’s now directing her ire somewhere else. “Hey, your sithliness!” Luke groans out loud. Even though Han is on Tatooine, awaiting rescue, he’d evidently taught Leia some nicknames in the time he’d been with them.

Vader stiffens, rage building as his gaze snaps to the princess marching closer to him with absolutely zero fear. Honestly, a little fear would probably be wise, but Luke can’t help being glad that Leia seems to trust Vader’s statement that he wouldn’t harm her. He shoots a reminder over their bond anyway, just to be safe: _you promised._ Vader’s fists clench at his side, but the anger lessens, pulled back inwards.

“I very much would like to see you dead, but clearly, Luke cares for you.” Luke winces at her bluntness and feels his father do the same over their bond. “Can’t imagine why,” she mutters under her breath, but then she’s barrelling onwards, “So I will restrain myself, but if you harm a hair on Luke’s head-” her voice drops to a hiss, and Luke shivers at the hate there, “I will destroy you.”

Luke is just waiting for the inevitable explosion, promise or not. He’s already reaching for Leia’s arm to pull her back from Vader’s wrath. But strangely, it never comes. In fact, all the anger Luke could sense swirling around his father dissipates, and he feels more than sees Vader’s shoulders slump. There’s no visible change in the mask or posture, but he’s no longer as threatening, his presence no longer so imposing. Even Leia seems to sense it. “We are in agreement there, Princess,” he exhales, and the mask tilts toward Luke, his gaze seeming to rest on Luke’s right hand--the prosthetic one. Guilt and self-hatred seep through the cracks in Vader’s shields, and Luke’s heart clenches at the fact that his father would see himself destroyed before hurting Luke again.

He steps forward before he even thinks about it, hand coming up to rest on his father’s arm, squeezing slightly in reassurance, a smile tugging at his lips as Vader’s shields slip lower, and warmth whispers across their bond. But he doesn’t look at Vader, gaze meeting Leia’s where she stands in front of him, shock tightly contained behind an impassive mask. 

But before he can speak or suggest that they discuss coordinating the plan with the rebellion, Artoo’s whistling behind them. Luke’s binary isn’t great, but he turns slightly, catching something about Skywalkers and tempers. He’s somewhat offended because he’s reasonably sure he’s the one who kept his temper the best in this very high strung situation. But he doesn’t linger on it because his father has stiffened behind him. And then he’s stepping away from Luke, towards Artoo, letting his son’s hand fall back to his side.

“Artoo, what did you just say?” Vader’s vocoder hisses. Leia frowns at him, and Luke shrugs back at her, just as confused. Clearly, his father had gotten something different from Artoo’s comment, but Luke senses no anger, so he doesn’t intervene yet. And it does seem like his father’s familiar with Artoo. But Luke doesn’t have time to ponder that before Artoo’s whistling again, no fear as he rolls right up to Vader’s leg. This time Luke is paying more attention, trying to figure out what had interested Vader. He distinctly makes out _Skywalker twins,_ and his breath catches for a moment.

Vader has no such problem, “WHAT?” It’s a roar, shaking the entire hallway in his outpouring of emotion.

Leia stumbles, grabbing Luke’s arm for stability. “What did he say?” she says, tugging on Luke’s sleeve urgently, trying to get his attention.

Luke blinks, trying to process the information. Because now that Artoo’s mentioned something, even as vague as Skywalker twins, the Force is yelling at him, pulling at him, telling him to _look, it’s true, you know._ So he does look. 

He turns to Leia’s slightly panicked face, emotions escaping him in this moment, and when he says it, he’s almost dazed, “We’re twins.”

And it’s true. The Force echoes the statement’s veracity with such roaring ferocity that he sees Leia’s expression shift, knows she feels it too. Her features contort with her presence's fluctuation; confusion and disbelief swiftly replaced by wonder and happiness. And then the stormtrooper helmet falls from her hand with a clang against the metal floor, and she’s tugging him into her arms. Luke’s still dazed, but he clings to her with a strength that she returns, always each other's anchors, even more so now that they’re both reeling, trying to comprehend. 

But some part of them had accepted it immediately, the part that had always known, deep down, that they were connected. And Luke feels it when a bond snaps into place between them, bright and singing with happiness. Leia gasps at the influx of emotions she’s surely feeling from Luke with the bond’s new presence, and he squeezes her closer. _His sister._

<<<>>>

The Force is celebrating around them, swirling and dancing and rejoicing that the ones she cares so deeply for have found each other, that they finally understand.

Vader can sense it, frozen midstep towards his children, hand reaching outward and grasping at nothing. He dares not move towards them, to interrupt their happiness with his presence. Artoo swivels his silver dome to look up at his old master, for once silent as he contemplates the situation.

Vader can only stand, unsure what to feel as he watches his children--Force, _his children_ \--embrace, senses the joy radiating from the Force around them. Anger flashes through his mind, first at Obi-wan for stealing them away from him, but even more so for stealing them from each other. They should have been allowed this connection since they were young. 

But then it’s gone, chased away by the crushing weight of everything he has done to them. _His children._ Leia. Leia: the name _she_ \--Padme--had wanted if it was a girl. Force, they look so similar; the same dark hair and eyes, the same stature, the same passion and belief in their ideals. How had he never guessed? The similarity had even angered him when he saw Leia in the Senate--how _dare_ she look so like Padme?--and that had made it easier to… to what? _Torture_ his own daughter? To hold her back while her planet was destroyed? Because how dare she look like his late wife. But now he knows just why she had looked so similar. Shame, guilt, hatred, it all washes through him. There is no galaxy in which he could ever atone, and he doesn’t need the Force to know she will never forgive him.

The siblings are pulling apart from each other, smiling, cheeks wet, and his heart tears anew. She has not yet processed, not yet realized. But she will. It’s about to happen. He can feel the Force gathering, the deep breath before the plunge.

She squeezes Luke’s arm gently, smiling, and Luke returns it, his eyes flicking to Vader. Leia catches it, head turning. And he senses it the moment she realizes. The Force turns to ice around them--distantly, Vader wonders if this is what his enemies feel before they die. Hatred thunders through the Force, spearing straight towards him. She’s reaching for her blaster, but she doesn’t need it. The ice is already slipping around his throat, cutting off the rasp of his respirator. Force, she’s powerful.

His hand clenches idly, his vision flickering, but he makes no move to stop her. He deserves nothing more, and perhaps this is the best course of action for the galaxy.

But even as the hall blurs through red-tinted lenses, the Force is whispering, achingly familiar. He feels it more than hears it, but it is there all the same. _This is not the way, Ani._

He answers it the only way he can. _I have failed them: my children. This is kinder than I deserve._

But the voice is louder now. _No_ _, this is selfish! Forgiveness should not be your goal; many will never give it. But you tore the galaxy apart, and it is your responsibility to attempt to fix it._

Vader gasps at the fire in the ghostly voice of his wife and knows she is right, but he cannot seem to find the strength to push back against his daughter.

The whispers soften. _This_ _will destroy them if you do not stop it. Your son cares; do not let him lose his father again._ More pressing this time, _Nor his sister._

And Vader needs no further persuasion. He will not let his daughter Fall as he had. He vows with whatever breath is left in his lungs that he will protect them, try to fix the galaxy he has torn apart, make it better for _them._ So he pushes back.

But the pressure around his throat is already gone, the icy spear of hatred dissipated like smoke. He blinks, his hand pressed against the durasteel wall for support, and tries to process what’s happened.

Luke reaches for his sister, but she recoils from his touch, backing away, disgust written plainly across her face as she looks first at Vader and then at her own hands. “Leia, it’s alright-” Luke tries, glancing at his father, pain and some other emotion lining his features.

Leia continues to pull away from her brother, “No, Luke, it’s not alright. I don’t want to be-” She struggles for words, and then her gaze turns from Luke to Vader. She nods in his direction. “ _that_ ,” she hisses. And Vader feels her horror. “I _hate_ him, and he’s-” She chokes on the word, tears building in her eyes as she pleads with Luke. But then her voice hardens, that cold edge creeping in, “He killed my father, my real father, and I don’t care who he is.” Her gaze shifts back to Vader, still steadying himself against the wall, and her glare burns, “That will never change.”

And Vader knew that, but it still tears at part of him, even as the rest of him vehemently agrees with her; she should hate him. It’s safer for her that way. And yet, she had pulled back from that darkness, had not killed him. But then, he’d already known that she was stronger than him. Both his children are.

She pivots on her heel, and then she’s storming down the hallway. She’s on the Executor, a ship full of Imperials. She’s still a highly wanted princess, and she hadn’t bothered to put on her helmet again, resting on the polished floor where she’d dropped it. Vader finally takes a step away from the wall after her, worry spiking. She’s in danger here. 

But his son beats him to it, turning to face him, pain in his bright eyes. His shields are carefully erected, keeping Vader from sensing anything he’s feeling, and he closes his eyes heavily, exhaling sharply, “I’ll talk to her.” Luke opens them then, meeting Vader’s gaze as accurately as he always does, and there’s sadness there, but also resolve, “But you can’t talk to her right now,” and Vader senses the protective nature of his stance: Luke _will_ attempt to stop him if he goes after Leia. For both their sakes. He sees Padme in Luke then, just as Vader sees parts of himself in Leia.

He nods, letting his guilt and remorse and apology echo through their bond. Luke sends a flare of acknowledgment but does not lower his shields, nor send any reassurance, and Vader is reminded of how much he has hurt his son as well.

Luke turns on his heel then and rushes after Leia, turning a corner sharply. Artoo beeps sadly next to Vader in the now empty hallway, and he looks down at the small, now-black-and-grey droid who had served with him for years, who now watches over his children. He raises a hand to the silver dome and rests it there. Somehow Artoo knows it’s to support him from crashing to his knees as much as, if not more than it is, to comfort the droid.

So he stands, unmoving, next to one of his oldest friends and lets the grief pour through him.

**Author's Note:**

> i may continue this storyline later on when I'm not so busy, who knows
> 
> If you guys liked it leave a comment. They make my day! Seriously I love reading them so please leave me one cause they motivate me to write more! if you guys have ideas for other stories send me an ask on tumblr [here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/imadetheline) or just yell about stuff with me. Info about me and all my other tumblrs are [here](https://infoabtmaddie.carrd.co/#)


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